Waiting For You
by Ms.Yellow-Ssanti
Summary: EnglandXOC Warning: Implied!Smut ONE-SHOT


**Waiting For You**

**EnglandXOC**

She hastily got up from the bed, she skipped her morning routine of stretching her arms because of the numerous and continuing knocking on the door. She ran out of her room as she wrapped herself up with a coat; she ran down the stairs haphazardly, but tripped at least three times on the way down.

She reached towards the door and quickly flattened out her tangled, curly blonde hair; she turned the knob.

"Rachel Lawrence," a man had said, "a delivery for you." He showed the young woman a letter and she yanked it out of his hand.  
>"Thank you," she said; the man impatiently stared at her and kept his hand open asking for money. "Oh," she said, but instead of money she gave him a firm handshake and slammed the door in his face.<p>

Rachel jumped on the couch and kicked her legs up in the air and giggled as she eyed the envelope; without hesitation she tore off the opening roughly. She held the letter inside the envelope by her chest and breathed in and out slowly before reading it; she lifted the letter to her eyes and smiled in joy.

"It _is_ from Artie~" she cheered; she laid down on the couch and started reading it.

"_Dear Rachel,_

_If you have not heard about the news (which I doubt you heard about it), that damn Alfred has won the war...Bloody Americans and their 'freedom'! I suppose your giggling right now, right?_"

Oops, he knows Rachel _too_ well...

"_Well, before I go off on saying how terrible the rebels were to my men-Rachel, I will be home in a few days. Remember to eat, sleep, bathe, _and_ clean up the house during that period of time—I'm pretty sure that you haven't done any cleaning while I was gone, and I will surely scold you if you do not follow these instructions!_"

She stopped reading after that; her emerald green eyes roamed down to the ending of the letter, "_Love, Arthur,_" it read. She threw the letter on the wooden floor.

"_Well, that's all I wanted to read_," she thought; she hadn't bothered reading any of the horrible things that Alfred had done to the British soldiers-she was certain that Arthur would tell her in person...So why bother reading it? Rachel stepped down from the couch and heard at crunch beneath her bare feet; she stared at it, eyes narrowing.  
>She picked up the dried tea bag on the floor; Rachel couldn't help <em>but<em> laugh hysterically. "Oh Arthur, you really _do _know me~"

Rachel herself _knew _that she was a very sloppy woman, which upset Arthur quite a bit, but she had somehow convinced her lover that he needed her just like she needed him—and besides, opposites attract.  
>She stood there narrowing her eyes at the dried tea bag, wanting it to clean itself up. She kicked it up in air, but it didn't seem to land on the coffee table like she wanted it to, and landed back on the floor; she sighed.<p>

"_Oh well,_ _guess I'll just have to make Arthur a little bit angry~_" Rachel thought mischievously.

**~DAY ONE~**

Rachel knew that Arthur wasn't going to appear any sooner, but she quickly got out of bed and checked herself in the mirror. She pulled up her hair in a bun—deciding which hairstyle she would have when she sees the man for the first time in years. She fumbled around with her hair until she found the right style.

As Rachel found the right hairstyle to put it in, she rushed into her huge closet and stared at the numerous dresses she owned. She stared and thought about what she would wear—then she saw it. Rachel stepped closer and closer; a disgusted expression spread across her face. She remembered how Arthur had bought this dress and forced Rachel to wear this for a World Conference; oh how she had been made fun of by other countries...

The Victorian dress with the hideous shade of green and bright orange ruffles on the sleeves, but then she smiled, remembering the delighted face that Arthur had on when she wore it in front of him—so pure, innocent, and joyful. She yanked the dress out and laid it across her bed.

**~DAY TWO~**

She stared at the living room, the kitchen, and the dining room; she lifted her knows in the air and decided to ignore it.

She smirked, "_There's nothing hotter than an angry British man!_"

**~DAY THREE~**

Rachel was getting more and more impatient by this day. How can he _not_ have shown up?

She was in the dress that she had hated so much for him, and her hair was up in a half-up bun. She stared out the window and waited for him.

She saw nothing _but_ rain that day...

**~DAY EIGHT~**

Rachel sat on the couch in the same alluring position for five days straight.

"_When is that bloody man coming?_" she thought impatiently. Her index finger tapped on the arm rest of the couch. "That damned man...!" She got off the couch and quickly walked up the stairs and slammed the door to her bedroom.

The knob of the front door turned and opened; the man in front of the door sighed he had his eyes closed and he rubbed his neck. He sat down on the couch and heard a crunch; his eyes bugged out. His green eyes narrowed around the messy living room-bags of tea everywhere on the floor (empty or not), a half-eaten bowl of pudding, and a fuzzy piece of green cheddar cheese that made Arthur shiver in disgust.

"RACHEL," he yelled out, "BLOODY WOMAN, COME DOWN HERE!" He quickly heard feet running down the stairs; the woman hugged him from behind.

"Artie, you're finally here," Rachel shouted; Arthur yanked the blonde, cheerful woman off him fiercily then blushed in a deep shade of red. He covered his face, making sure his shining green orbs peeked in between his fingers. "B-bloody hell, woman, put some clothes on!"

Rachel cocked her head innocently then looked down—she only wore a white, lacy corset; she smirked as she stared at the bump in the English man's pants. "You know you like it~"

"...J-just put on some damn clothes!"

Rachel skipped towards him as she pulled her hair down; she reached behind her back and started to untie the corset as best as she can. "And what if I don't, Iggy? Are you going to _punish_ me?" she asked rather seductively. She trailed her index finger down his chest, to his torso, then slowly traced around the bulge; England growled. He picked her up violently and ran up the stairs and locked themselves in their bedroom.

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